Hassan Hadla (50) lives in Yalda, south of Damascus. His family has practiced knife grinding for three generations. His grandfather used a manual grinding wheel and served clients in Lebanon, traveling by horse-cart. Hassan’s father took him along on his bicycle at age eight, sharpening knives and scissors across Damascus using an electric-powered tool.
Abu Al-Abed, Hassan grew up loving the trade—his childhood dream. After inheriting his father’s machine, he added a small generator to cope with frequent power cuts, though it made the work more physically challenging.
“Grinding is a part of my soul,” he says. For him, it's more than earning a living—he sees himself as a craftsman, even an artist. Sparks fly as he sharpens tools for tailors and workshops, carefully honing each blade. Many of his clients are the children of his father’s customers, people he grew up with.
Though the tools have changed, and much of the countryside has been devastated by war, Abu Al-Abed believes the trade still holds the same value. He still receives calls from old neighborhoods, asking for his services. He cycles through Damascus daily with no fixed route, calling out loudly to announce his arrival: “Wherever there’s a living, I stick.”
He now brings his eight-year-old son, Nasser—just as his father once brought him. Nasser, fascinated by the craft, joins him on weekends to learn the trade.
The only thing that survived is a photo of him with his father, taken by a journalist documenting the fading of the manual grinding wheel—one that was later stolen during a regime raid on his town. But none of this has stopped him. He continues not only because he’s skilled, but to keep his family’s legacy alive in the heart of Damascus.
